These Hands
by special-rock
Summary: After the war Draco Malfoy is convicted of war crimes. Harry Potter motions to appeal his sentence, and they enlist the enigmatic PI Hannah Abbott and the DC Adrian Pucey, uncovering secrets on the way...  Based on Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. NOT SLASH.


**A/N: New story (crazy, I know) that is loosely based on The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, but after the war and focusing on the events following the trial of Draco Malfoy for war crimes. Harry steps in to appeal his sentence out of some ridiculous moral impulse (in Draco's opinion), and the two look to Draco's past for material that will stand up in a Court of Appeal. In doing this, they look to Lucius Malfoy, who has some secrets of his own. They enlist the help of Hannah Abbott, ex-Hufflepuff and now delinquent and enigmatic private investigator who completely ignores the law as it suits her, and Adrian Pucey, a high-profile and successful defence lawyer to find out what Lucius Malfoy's secret really is, and to get Draco acquitted.**

**Disclaimer: All belongs to Stieg Larsson and JK Rowling. Pas moi.**

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><p><strong>DRACO: <strong>The trial was irretrievably over; everything that had could be said had been said, but he had never doubted that he would lose. The written verdict was handed down at 10.00 on Friday morning, and all that remained was a summing-up from the reporters waiting in the corridor outside the Wizengamot Courtrooms.

Draco Malfoy saw them through the doorway and slowed his step. He had no wish to discuss the verdict, but questions were unavoidable, and he – of all people – knew that they had to be asked and answered. _This is how it is to be a criminal_, he thought. _Father's not the one behind the microphone now._

He straightened up and tried to smile. The reporters gave him unsure, almost cold greetings.

'Let's see..._The Daily Prophet, The Evening Prophet, Witch Weekly, The Quibbler_, and...where are you from?...ah, yes, _Witches XXX_. Fuck, man, I'm not a porn star,' he said to startled chuckling from the assorted reporters.

'Give us a sound bite, Mr Malfoy.' It was a reporter from one of the evening papers.

Draco, hearing the name, forced himself as always not to shiver. Mr Malfoy was his father, and his father brought up memories he'd rather not be reminded of. Memories of pain and black skulls on forearms. Mr Malfoy was in gaol for war crimes. In Azkaban, where Draco was going as a result of this morning's trial.

Right now he achieved a placid smile and said to the reporter from the evening paper:

'Oh come on, think of something yourself. You usually do.'

His tone was not unpleasant. They all knew each other, more or less, from previous press conferences involving Lucius and Narcissa, and Draco's most vicious critics had not come that morning. They hadn't had to; the entire public was Draco's most vicious critic, and they had their opinions broadcast in newspapers daily. One of the journalists there had at one time been at school with him. And at a party some years ago he had nearly succeeded in picking up one of the reporters – the woman from Witch Weekly.

'You took a real hit in there today,' said the one from _The Daily Prophet_, clearly a young part-timer. 'How does it feel?'

Despite the seriousness of the situation, neither Draco nor the older journalists could help smiling. He exchanged glances with _Witch Weekly_. _How does it feel? _The half-witted sports reporter shoves his microphone in the face of the Breathless Athlete on the finishing line. How did he think it felt? One of the worst criminals at the young age of seventeen, sent to the worst prison on earth for sixty years. _How does it feel?_

'I can only regret that the court did not come to a different conclusion,' he said a bit stiffly.

'Sixty years in gaol and 150,000 galleons in damages. That's pretty severe,' said the woman from _Witch Weekly_.

'I'll survive.'

'Are you going to apologise to Harry Potter publicly? Shake his hand?'

'I think not.'

'Despite the fact that he has motioned for the Wizengamot to appeal your case?'

_What? _It was only a childhood of experience with press conferences that kept Draco from laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of that statement. _Harry Potter, appealing my sentence to Azkaban? _Admittedly, the last time he had seen Harry Potter in person was in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, but the last interaction he and Potter had had was for Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley to save his life from uncontrolled Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. The only reason he could think of that might have any bearing on Potter's decision to contest his sentence would be when Potter, Granger and Weasley were captured and brought to the Manor, and he had aided their release. But that in and of itself was a long shot indeed.

'I – I'll make a state...I'll make a statement at a later date,' he stuttered, a bit wild-eyed. 'I have nothing further to add.'

'But –'

'Nothing more to add,' he repeated, but when the other reporters accepted this _The Quibbler _stood him against the doors to the courtroom and asked her questions in front of the camera. She was kinder than he deserved, and there were enough clear and controversial answers to satisfy all the reporters still standing behind her. The story would be in the headlines but he reminded himself that they were not dealing with the second resurrection of the Dark Lord here. The reporters had what they needed and headed back to their respective newsrooms.

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><p>Outside the Ministry on a small London street, he considered walking, but it was a blustery August day and he was already cold after the interview. As he walked down the small street, he saw Theodore Nott getting out of his car. Eighteen, tall, dark and handsome, he must have been sitting there during the interview. Their eyes met, and Nott smiled.<p>

'It was worth coming down here just to see you with that paper in your hand.'

Draco smiled ruefully. He and Nott had known each other since they were three years old. They had been at school together, and their families had held an annual Yuletide Ball since before they were born. But Nott was stronger than Draco. Braver. He had refused to join the Death Eaters and been disowned as a result. Rumour was that he'd fled to Russia for two years and had a short but passionate affair with a young Russian woman who was gunned down by the Mafia three months after their meeting. But Draco hadn't seen Nott since before them to confirm this. Looking at Nott now, Draco could see no sign of any traumatic strain.

But then again, Nott had always been a bit of a sociopath.

As it were, Draco nodded to him before turning and walking away down the London street, any thoughts of alternate transport forgotten. It was cold and windy without his coat, but he really needed to take a walk, clear his head. It took twenty minutes, but he decided that he could really do with a coffee.

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><p>Lima Marr was a café just off Keilor Street run by Australian ex-pat Nora Carter. It was a small yet classy establishment that served a strong, dark, fruity blend of coffee with a thick layer of foam on top. Since the beginning of the trial process three weeks ago, Draco had come to be in here more and more often, growing to be fond of its dark red-wood interior and the foreign music blasting through the speakers. The wide collection of CDs and foreign-language books had kept his mind occupied while he recuperated under the low lighting with a large café latte and turkey sandwich.<p>

Nora herself was dark and pretty, with high cheekbones, a raw brown gaze and a smart intellectual manner. She ignored the fact that Draco was antisocial and drawn, with tired lines marring his brow as he poured over a newspaper with moving pictures. What little she'd gotten out of him was that he was involved in a huge trial at the High Court (not exactly a lie) and that he was very much stressed over it (not exactly hidden). He was vaguely interested in her, but it was unreciprocated: Nora had her equally pretty girlfriend in the café most days and now that Draco was going to jail for three years...

'Your coffee's on the table at the back,' Nora greeted him when he walked in. He paused, confused. How had she known he was coming? It was later than usual. She raised her eyebrows. 'Someone ordered it for you. Said he was waiting to discuss something about the trial.' When he still looked confused she added, 'Medium height, black hair, round glasses? Weird scar on his forehead?'

_Oh_. 'Thanks, Nora.'

'No worries. How'd the trial go?'

One look on his face was enough. 'I don't think I'll be in for a while after this.'

'I'll be sorry to see you go.'

'Me too.'

Harry Potter was waiting for him at his usual table, two café lattes in front of him. He'd changed after the war; they all had. But Potter had grown more confident, more established, while the rest of them had withered and died. He'd lost the innocence that could only be retained from childhood, and his entire figure has hardened, somehow. His eyes were no longer alive; they'd achieved that deadened look that Draco knew could only come from the committing of murder – he knew, because he saw it every time he looked in the mirror.

'Malfoy,' Potter greeted coolly.

'Potter,' he reciprocated, pulling the unoccupied chair out and sitting down. 'What brings you here? Come to gloat? I'm locked away for sixty years now. Probably go mad within two. I've heard Azkaban does that to a man.'

Potter glared in annoyance. 'I'm not here to gloat. I have something I'd like to offer...a proposal, of sorts.'

Too easy. 'Sorry, but I don't swing that way. So you can take your proposal and shove it so far up your fucking arse that it comes out your left nostril.'

Potter scowled, his fingers tearing a napkin into little pieces. 'You're not in a good place to be acting hostile, Malfoy. The trial was bad enough. But look at this.' He slid a copy of the evening newspaper over to Draco, who shook it out and was immediately confronted by a large image of his scowling self.

_**MALFOY HEIR CONVICTED**_

_Infamous underworld figure and convicted Death Eater Draco Malfoy was today sentenced to 60 years in prison without parole, to be served on Azkaban Island._

_Convicted of the use of over 80 Unforgivable Curses, including the Killing Curse, the Wizengamot this morning found Malfoy, 17, guilty of the attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore. He was sentenced to serve 2 life sentences._

_Due to mitigating circumstances, Malfoy was acquitted of the attempted murders of Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas._

_The son of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, serving life in Azkaban, and Narcissa Malfoy, under house arrest, Draco Malfoy was initiated into Lord Voldemort's inner circle at the age of 15._

_Story continued page 2._

_Draco Malfoy's early life as the son of two Death Eaters on page 7._

_Draco Malfoy's full list of crimes on page 7._

_Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter: A Complicated Relationship on page 8._

There was a sour taste in his mouth as he slid the paper back over to Potter. 'Front page? I didn't think I was so important.'

'You're not,' Potter shot back reflexively, before taking it back, 'Alright. I didn't mean that. I'm here to discuss your appeal.'

Draco clenched his fist, banging it down on the table. 'My appeal? I don't recall applying for one. It might have something to do with the fact that I AM GUILTY OF EVERY SINGLE CRIME I AM CONVICTED OF!'

The other patrons and Nora stared over at the two men at this outburst, but after seeing Draco's expression quickly looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. Draco drew in a deep, violent breath and glared stonily at Potter. 'I'm sorry. I just haven't had a chance to process everything.'

'It's fine. I understand.'

'You do, do you?'

'You're overtired. Sensitive.'

'I am _not _sensitive.' Draco ran his fingers through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. 'What are you here for?'

'I told you. I want to appeal your sentence.'

'On what grounds? I'm as guilty as fuck.'

'On grounds of emotional coercion. Duress. Defensive homicide. That kind of thing.'

Draco pulled the folded judgement out of his suit pocket. It was thirty-seven pages long and set out the reasons for finding Draco guilty on 87 counts of Unforgivable Curses, the Unmentionable Study of the Dark Arts, sixty accounts of the unlawful torture of a human being, three counts of murder and one of attempted murder. At least the Wizengamot had acquitted him of five counts of attempted murder for good behaviour while in ministry holding cells.

But all in all, it was an impressive sentence. It was only thanks to his standing in Pureblood society, the Malfoy name and the large amount of money provided that he had gotten off lightly on only two life sentences, equalling sixty years, rather than the excessive 156 years he should be serving. And they'd even given him three weeks so get his affairs in order as a sign of good faith on the request of his mother, provided he would take a Wizarding Oath to present himself to the Auror Department on Friday in two weeks. Many of the public had been outraged at this announcement, so he'd looked for the relative solace and anonymity of Muggle London.

Potter handed him back the judgement, frowning deeply. 'I know it's a long shot, Malfoy. But you saved my life, and I always repay my debts. I know you didn't do those things of your own free will. We just need to be able to prove this in court. Will you accept?'

Draco folded his hands, lacing the fingers and resting them under his chin, noticing vaguely that he needed to shave. Should he accept Potter's offer, and possibly publicly humiliate himself – and his mother and father – once again, so soon after the trial? It was impossible for him to diminish his sentence any further – or at least, highly unlikely. But there was always a chance. And if it were _Harry Potter _arguing his case, the _Saviour_, the _Chosen One_, surely that would count for something? He didn't want to spend the next sixty years of his life in jail.

But there was only one problem. Perhaps he hadn't at first, but eventually he'd come to tolerate, if not enjoy, using the Dark Arts. The power they'd given him, the rush, and the control. So much of his life had been controlled, and finally the Dark Arts had given _him _the power to control. It had been the most incredible feeling, watching as a man, a woman, as they writhed under the Cruciatus, or as they succumbed to the Killing Curse. He really was guilty. He really deserved more than his sixty years. He deserved the death sentence, if such a punishment existed for Purebloods.

Potter watched him with _Avada Kedavra _green eyes. 'Will you accept?'

'I will,' he said.

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><p><strong>AN: So, what did you think? Kind of weird, I know. But I think it could work. And I just love the Millenium Trilogy to bits. So combining it with Harry Potter...could it work? You tell me.**

**Read and review :)**

**special-rock**


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